


Cor. 12

by kattahj



Category: X-Men (Movies)
Genre: Drama, Gen, protest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-02-15
Updated: 2002-02-15
Packaged: 2017-11-08 14:54:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/444391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kattahj/pseuds/kattahj
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A bunch of people shows the world and the X-Men that there is no need to judge so-called normal humanity from its worst specimens.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cor. 12

1\. THE DAME WITH THE NAME AT THE PEAK OF HER FAME

The woman’s presence filled the TV set, and by the look on the faces of the people around her, it was even stronger in person. Not that they all liked what she was saying.

Her name was Jaqueline Alkowitz, and her voice revealed traces of a French-Canadian accent. Born a member of the Le Claire family that owned most of Quebec, she was a US citizen by marriage only. Still, when money speaks, you tend to listen, even when the money doesn’t have the rhetorics this lady had. Granted, she wasn’t speaking on behalf of her family, but of the City Center, providing healthcare and leisure activities to the people of Brooklyn. That didn’t matter. Rich is rich. The X-men collectively leaned forward, following her speech with interest. The things she said should have had a riot started already, but with the exception of low displeased murmurings, all was calm.

”If you make people your enemies, enemies is what they will be”, she said. ”But I don’t think this is necessary. You speak of the dangers of telepathy. Well, I happen to have a friend who is a telepath. She works with children, and telepathy means she can know they are alright even when they are not in the same room as herself. She can tell if a salesman is lying to her - who wouldn’t want that? I don’t even want to get started on her marital life - ” Ms Alkowitz smiled widely. ”What is the name of that book? ’Men Are From Mars, Women Are From Venus’? They say men and women speak different languages, and I know for sure *my* husband is difficult to understand sometimes.” This caused some laughter among the audience. ”She has no such problems. Is that reason for me to hate her? She’s got the life I always wanted!”

”She’s good”, Orore mumbled. ”The lines are old, but the performance is strong.”

”We don’t forbid doctors to use knives because they might decide to kill us with them. We don’t tell mechanics to get rid of their soldering irons. A certain amount of trust is necessary to live. Yet we assume that a telekinetic would rather throw things at us than learn how to play piano pieces for four hands all alone. We think an animal controller would rather make a Hitchcock film come true than become a vet and calm down scared pets. Let me tell you this: if your perfectly normal neighbour decides to kill you you will be just as dead as if a mutant does it. Everyone is dangerous. And even though you are ashamed to admit it, even you are dangerous.”

Her eyes wandered across the room. Sadly, the camera was focused on her face only, so the TV viewers could not see the reactions her words brought forward. Still, the silence told a lot.

”You have listened to my words here today, and I am most grateful. Now, before I step down, I would like you to hear the words of God. Paul’s letter to the Corinthians, chapter 12.”

Jean’s chin fell down, and through her emotional link with Scott she could feel his eyebrows raising even though they were hidden behind his glasses. Ms Alkowitz didn’t seem like the kind to start running to the Bible for arguments.

”…For the body does not consist of one member but of many. If the foot should say, ’Because I am not a hand, I do not belong to the body,’ that would not make it any less a part of the body…”

What she said wasn’t just poetic, it was likely to get the attention of exactly those who disliked her opinions, humans and mutants alike. Tiny little needles, that was what it was, and it was a thin line she was walking. Would they accept her stand, or would this be the moment when all hell burst loose?

She finished the chapter and smiled at her audience. ”Well, then there’s chapter 13. I suggest you do that as homework.”

That should have set them going. But no, there was nothing. As the woman stepped down from the rostrum, Jean was the first one to speak.

”Are you sure she’s not some sort of mutant?” she asked the professor.

He shook his head. ”Positive. But for an ordinary person she is rather extraordinary. With people like that on our side, we have quite a good chance.”

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Xavier had tried calling Jaqueline Alkowitz repeatedly, but whenever her phone wasn’t busy, there was only the impersonal voice of the answering machine. Finally, almost a week later, she called him back. She sounded stressed, but friendly, as she apologized for taking so long. Her talent for words was evident even in a phone conversation, and it was pleasant talking to her.

”So, are you in favour of interactions between humans and mutants?”

”I thought mutants *were* human.” There was humour in her voice. ”Born by humans, giving birth to humans, I don’t know what else they can be called. If you want a word for people like me, I suggest ’normies’. That’s the one I’ve heard.”

”By your mutant friends?”

”And the non-mutants, yeah.”

”Would you be interested in organizing some meeting between mutants and… ’normies’?”

”*Me*? No, no, no. I’m the voice. Not organisation, definitely not. But if that’s the sort of thing you are interested in, I suppose I know a few people you can talk to. Hold on.” Xavier waited on the line while ms Alkowitz went through her papers. ”Weaver Dawson seems like a good idea, he’s not as busy as some of the other guys around. Do you have a pen and paper?”

Xavier wrote down the number and thanked the woman for her help. Just as he was about to hang up, he heard her say:

”Wait a second!”

”Yes?”

”I just found a post-it note. They’re having some sort of demonstration at Carla’s this Saturday.”

”Who are having a demonstration where?”

”Probably my youngest in-laws and their friends from the City Center. Carla’s is a café by Prospect Park.” Her attention was beginning to drift. ”If I know them right, it’ll be an excuse to sing in the street, but it might be worth a visit. Since you’re into mutants and normies working together.” Voices in the background. ”I am terribly sorry, professor Xavier, but there’s quite an emergency around here, I really have to get going.”

”I understand. Prospect Park, you said?” After a few hurried instructions and adieus, they both hung up. Xavier sat thinking for a while, then called on Jean through their mental link.

*Would you and Scott like some park music?*

2\. SINGING

”It seems like they have started already”, Jean said as she and Scott got off the motorcycle and approached the café. There was a crowd by the house and clear sounds of singing. When they came closer, Jean bumped into a man who had turned around quickly, angrily, and as he walked away from the scene she could hear him muttering: ”Damn mutant-loving spoiled bastards.”

”Well, nice to meet you too,” she mumbled.

”What?” asked Scott, who thought she had been talking to him.

”Nothing.” They proceeded into the crowd, close enough to spot some of the singers and to hear what they were singing. Jean suddenly grinned.

”Sydney Carter. My mom used to sing his songs to me when I was a baby.”

Scott stared at her. ”You remember being a baby?”

”I remember Sydney Carter,” she said and hummed along with the young people on the street: *Wherever there’s a lynching, the Devil will be there. A witch or an apostle, the Devil doesn’t care.*

Although the crowd gathered around the café was as varied as crowds tend to be, the singing people were mostly young, between 20 and 30. College students, maybe. Their songs and behaviour echoed of the flower age, and a girl in a tie-dyed dress painting peace marks on people’s faces suggested that they were very well aware of this and played along. On the fasade above their heads there was a big banner saying *Cor 12 - all bodyparts rejoice!*. Hm.

The song came to an end and a short, skinny young man grabbed a microphone.

”This was yet another Sydney Carter song, this time The Devil Wore A Crucifix, and we are the Cor 12 movement, working for peace among all races and species. Come closer, we don’t bite! There are still tables available!”

There were. In spite of the big crowd, people seemed somewhat unwiling to sit down and admit that they enjoyed the spectacle. Scott nudged Jean.

”Come on, let’s sit down! he said, and they moved towards a table.

The man was now introducing the next song. ”The musical Hair was liberal in many ways, even towards mutation. We’re very fond of that musical, so you’ll be hearing some music from it. I’m proud to present Billy Drew singing I’ve Got Life.”

Jean and Scott sat down at an outdoor table and watched a blonde, bearded young man grace the scene. The waiters at the café were kids considerably younger than the singers, looking more junior high than college. One of them came up to their table. He was wearing a needle on his chest saying Cor 12, and around the tables people were selling similar needles and handing out flyers. Boy, these kids were really dedicated.

”Hi,” the waiter said, smiling. ”My name is Anton, I’m your waiter. Can I get you something?” He carefully noted down their order for coffee and bagels. ”I’ll be right back. Meanwhile, enjoy the music, see if you can find any mutants.”

He went back to the counter. It seemed like encouraging people to look for mutants was part of the job, because looking around they could find many people who seemed to be discussing the Cor 12 members. One of the waitresses, a fairy-looking teenager with flaming red hair and shockingly blue eyes, was constantly stopped and questioned by customers, and every time she laughed and shook her head no. Odd-looking was not a clear sign for mutation.

Anton came back with their orders. ”Found any mutants yet?”

Scott shook his head, smiling.

”The keyboardist,” Jean said. Her voice was low but certain.

Scott looked at her in surprise, then at the keyboardist, a young man of 25 or so, good-looking in a not-remarkable way.

Anton’s face looked empty. ”What makes you say that?”

”Because he stopped playing a minute ago to take a sip of water, but the music didn’t stop.”

”It could be playback,” Anton argued.

”It wasn’t playback.”

Anton grinned. ”No it wasn’t,” he admitted. ”Okay, you spotted one. Not bad. You’re only the third one so far who has gotten it right. Don’t tell anyone.”

”We wouldn’t dream of it,” Scott assured him.

They sat back through the show, listening to show tunes and peace tunes and every tune on earth that with any stretch of the imagination could have to do with mutants. They didn’t move when they had finished their meals, because nobody asked them too. People on the street walked by, stopped, and left again. Cor 12 members were replaced by others less tired and came back again. The keyboardist gave up his seat for a blonde young girl and proved with Close Every Door that he was also an accomplished singer. It was a really funny day out.

Until the mood got nasty.

3\. STICKS AND STONES

It was subtle things at first, such as the sour faces no longer being in minority, or the nasty words becoming so loud they actually disturbed the singing. The demonstration continued, everyone ignoring the change in mood.

A young, black woman took the microphone and her voice filled the street, filled the world as it seemed. She had a lovely soprano, not yet fully refined, but with great potential and depth in emotions. From the first lines she captured the audience: *I don’t know if you can hear me, or if you’re even there. I don’t know if you would listen to a mutie’s prayer.* Her mouth twisted a little singing that slight alteration of lyrics, and that one managed to pass. The crowd might not have liked it, and there faces were blank, but they let her sing.

Some of her friends were crying. The keyboard guy cried so hard the blonde had to replace him again. Scott and Jean even felt like crying. The song might have been a piece of Disney merchandising, but the way she sang it, there was more to it than that.

She came to the last lines. *I thought we all were children of God.* She lift her hands and altered the lyrics once again. *God help the mutants, children of God.*

That one didn’t pass.

The first rock came flying through the air, and the girl, still holding onto the last note, did not manage to dodge. The stone hit her head, and if it had been a big one she could have been seriously injured. As it was now, she fell to the ground, but didn’t stay down.

The keyboardist rushed to her side, his cheeks still wet from tears. He yelled her name, kneeling down beside her. He was grabbed by a member of the crowd and hit in the stomach with a cane. Before soon, the party had turned into a riot.

Jean and Scott rose from their seats to do something, anything. The Cor 12 members were clearly on the track of Gandhiness, because they did nothing to fight back the blows. A short distance from Jean a woman was trying to get to her little son. A rock came flying through the air towards the head of the boy. Before Jean had time to think, she stopped it in midair.

The woman turned to look at her, surprised, and yanked the boy in her arms. *Thank you* she sent, and Jean realised she was looking at another telepath.

Before she had time to send anything back, someone yelled at her, trying to hit her with a rock, and Scott stood in her way. Wearing his usual glasses he couldn’t blast the ground away from those bigots’ feet as he may have wanted, but he stood his ground. For a while. The beating with the rock only bruised him, but when people kept pushing he fell, and a cracking sound was followed by burning pain in his arm. It didn’t really help that someone stepped on his hand, someone who must have been wearing steel soles.

”It may interest you to know that I have called the police.” A middle aged woman, the owner of the café, was holding the microphone. ”I suggest you all leave unless you want to be arrested.”

”Mutie lover!” someone yelled at her, but the violence had begun to cease. ”Arrested” was not a word they liked to think of concerning themselves.

”Be that as it may,” the woman said raising her voice, ”any mutants present here today have chosen *not* to do any harm. Not with powers, nor with *bricks*.”

Finally, some breathing space between pushes and fights. Jean helped Scott up.

”Are you okay?” she asked.

He clinched his teeth, holding his arm. ”I’m fine.”

She reached into his mind. ”No you’re not.”

He managed a smile. ”No I’m not. I think it’s broken.”

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

”Do you need help?”

It was the mother from before, a young woman with ginger hair and freckles. Her son was trailing her and crying silently. She looked at Scott’s arm with concern. ”You should get to the hospital. Carla has called for ambulance, but that’s just for the worst cases. Do you have a car?”

”Motorcycle,” Scott answered.

”Well you can’t ride a motorcycle in that condition. You should come with us.”

The woman’s face turned blank, and Jean could hear her projected thoughts. Obviously she wasn’t trained enough to hide them from other telepaths.

*Can we take two more people in the car? There’s a guy here with a broken arm.*

The reply was weak, coming from a non-telepath. *It will be crowded, but I guess so.*

The woman frowned. She turned to Jean. ”Someone should take the motorcycle. Do you want to do it or should my husband?”

”Does he know how to drive a motorcycle?” Scott asked. He wasn’t giving up his bike to just anyone.

The woman nodded. ”Anything with an engine. He’s a mechanic.”

”Okay then,” Scott agreed.

*You’re taking his motorcycle. Drop the girls off by the car.*

She smiled at them. ”Then we should get going. Our car is just around the corner. My name is Laurie Drew by the way.”

”Jean Grey. This is Scott Summers. Thank you for helping us.”

”It’s the least I can do. You saved Jason.”

Taking the boy by the hand, she pushed through the crowd with the two X-men following her, to a strange hybrid of a car.

”I want to sit in the front!” Jason said.

”Not today, honey.” She turned to Scott. ”I think you should better take the front seat. Less risk of being pushed by a kid.”

Scott nodded and sat down. The car interested him. Most of it was Plymouth, but there were pieces of other cars as well. He would have called it a piece of junk if the jigsaw puzzle work hadn’t been so well done.

”And there’s Billy,” Laurie said with relief evident in her voice.

Her husband, who looked more than a little like some nutty prophet, approached the car. With him was a carriage in which two girls of the toddler age were seated.

”Hey,” he said after brief introductions, sounding somewhat out of breath. He frowned at the sight of them. ”You’re not center people, are you? I don’t think I’ve seen you before.”

”No,” Jean said, ”we heard about this after Jaqueline Alkowitz’ speech last week…”

”Oh, wasn’t she wonderful?” Laurie said, interrupting her efforts to get the girls seated in the back. ”And she mentioned me, too. I was so flattered.”

”Yeah, that was neat,” Billy agreed. ”Jean, do you mind taking Jason in your lap? Thank you. That woman scares the hell out of me, though.”

The others stared at him. ”Jackie?” Laurie asked. ”Why?”

”It’s that smile!” he said with a grimace. ”It’s not real, it’s a charity smile. It never comes off. She can meet someone she hates and the smile just gets bigger.”

”Oh, but where you come from, if you hate someone, you knife them in the back. I see,” Laurie taunted her husband while she sat down and put on the seat belt.

”Funny.” He grinned at her and then leaned down to Scott. ”The bike?” he asked.

”It’s on the parking lot left of the café,” Scott said, trying to ignore the pain. He dug through his pocket for the keys and handed them over to Billy. ”Take care of her.”

Billy nodded, and Laurie gave Jean a sympathetic look.

”Another one, huh? I know how you feel, always coming second to a machine.”

Billy grinned at her and gave a thought that made Laurie blush and Jean raise her eyebrows. Then he left.

”Well! Shall we get going?” Laurie asked, blushing even more when she realised Jean had heard that thought.

4\. HOSPITAL

The City Center Hospital wasn’t all that far away from Carla’s, and Scott managed to keep his calm. The pain in his arm was bad, and his hand even worse, so he was most grateful to be taken inside.

The receptionist gave him a glance. ”Looks like that could need surgery. Sorry to say, the orthopaedist is busy right now. Jenny?” A young hispanic doctor walking by turned around. ”Can you take him up for diagnostic and give him something for the pain?”

”Sure.”

Before Jean could object, the doctor and Scott had gotten into an elevator and left. Damn. She would have wanted to be there, but things were far too chaotic right now for her to find them again.

The café owner had followed one of the wounded inside, now she stood in the entrance quarreling with a police officer. Her voice was low but fierce, his more calm.

”They have a fair point,” he said.

”Then why can’t they find a fair way of making it?”

”You know I’m not saying I agree with their behaviour. But you can’t blame them for being frightened.”

”Adam, when people come into my home saying they want to sterilize my daughter, that frightens *me*. The difference is, I don’t try to knock their heads in to prove it.”

Jean listened to the conversation while her eyes took in the people that had been hurt. Some were merely bruised, others were unconscious. She noticed the blonde who had alternated as keyboardist being brought in on a stretcher and wondered what it was her face reminded her of. Then it struck her. That light skin, those angelic features, the curly blond hair - add a wild beard and you had Billy. She must be his sister. Jean felt a little sick. All this time at Westchester they had learned to think of the mutants as the targets for bigotism and hatred, and the non-mutants as people who should be won over, put on their side. These were the ones who had been won over, this was what happened to them. They became targets too. No wonder nobody would rise to defend the mutants.

”Have you called dr Hartnell?” a nurse asked the receptionist.

”Yes. He’s coming as soon as possible.”

”Good. We definitely need more people.”

Jean snapped out of her thoughts. She couldn’t be with Scott, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t be useful. ”I’m a doctor. I can help.”

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The doctor called Jenny brought Scott into an examination room.

”Sit down,” she said, nodding at a chair.

He did as he was told and was a little surprised when she stroke her hand along his arm. That hurt.

”Is it okay if I cut open your jacket?” she asked.

He looked down at his jacked. He didn’t like the thought, but he liked the thought of having to take it off even more. ”I guess.”

When she had thus destroyed a perfectly fine piece of clothing she started putting needles in his shoulders. Acupuncture. Oookay…

”Shouldn’t you examine me?”

”You have an uncomplicated fracture in your forearm and a couple of broken fingers. It’s nothing that can’t be fixed, but I suspect you hurt a lot.”

He did. But how did she know all that?

”You barely even looked at my arm.”

She smiled a little. ”Trust me.”

She placed the last needles, and moving away her hand touched his head. Suddenly she gasped, and when he saw her shocked expression he realised that she *had* examined him after all.

What’s the opposite of psychic, he thought? Physic?

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When things had calmed down a little, Jean stopped being a doctor and returned to being a fiancée. She had no idea where Scott was at and didn’t know where to start looking. Also, she was thirsty. There had to be a soft drink machine somewhere.

She walked through a playroom with a giant paper mache dragon hanging from the ceiling and found a waiting room with a machine. Beautiful. On a sofa nearby she also found Billy and his daughters, who were asleep in his lap.

”Hi,” she said and sat down in a chair opposite him. ”Where’s Laurie?”

”She’s trying to get Jason clean. He found a pile of horse dung and decided it was play-do.” He smiled. ”Oh well, too late to flush him now.”

In spite of his attempts to joke, she could sense strain in his voice and said, cautiosly: ”I saw a girl taken in, she looked like you, was she…”

”My kid sister Vanessa. They cracked her spleen. She’s gonna be fine, though.” He obviously found it difficult to talk about that subject, because he hurried to change it. ”So, Laurie told me you overheard what I said to her.”

”About the olives? I’m afraid I did. I must admit, I’ve never thought of a belly-button as an olive dish.”

”I can highly recommend it,” he said with a grin.

”Well, if I ever find Scott… I haven’t seen him since a doctor took him away for diagnostics hours ago.”

”What doctor?”

”I don’t know. Jenny something. Hispanic girl, tall, thin, nose like a hawk.”

”Carla’s daughter. Over there,” Billy said, pointing. ”Jenny!”

The woman responded to his call and came over to them.

”Have you seen her boyfriend? The guy with the shades?”

”Oh, him!” Jenny said, and her face lit up in excitement. ”They took him up to operation ages ago. It wasn’t anything complicated, he’s probably released already.”

Billy raised an eyebrow. ”If it’s such a dull case, why are you looking so interested? Did you discover something unexpected? Don’t tell me - he has a tumour that looks like Lou Reed.”

”Don’t be ridiculous.”

”Well, there’s something. Oh!” Billy grimaced. ”Obviously. Another mutant. I’m beginning to feel alone in the normie corner.”

Jenny gave Jean an apologetic glance. ”Alright then. Energy. When I touched him I sensed incredibly strong energy coming through his head, like Corey’s heat things, only 10,000 times bigger. So I tried to follow it back to the source, see how he does it.” She shook her head, amazed. ”He doesn’t. I ran into a wall of broken synapses. It’s completely renegade. That was almost enough to make *me* afraid of mutants.”

”And you are one,” a voice said from behind her. Scott sat down next to her, grinning a little. ”Gossiping about me?”

The woman blushed. ”I’m so sorry. I did say almost.”

”Yes you did. Don’t worry, I’m not offended.” Scott’s eyes met Jean’s. *Should we tell them about Xavier’s?*

*That’s the plan, isn’t it? I think cooperation could be good for everyone.*

5\. TERMS OF COOPERATION

Maybe it wasn’t so surprising that you couldn’t get grown people interested in what was, basically, a high school. It seemed that the City Center, apart from the hospital part, was organized in a rather casual way. A demonstration against bigotry or a ghost walk for the kids, that was all depending on what people felt like doing. Laurie and Jenny were both very positive to cooperation between Xavier’s and the Center, but they didn’t see the need to make a big fuss about it. Just come over here and people will hang out with you. As for the offers of help in developing their powers, their reaction could be best described as a shrug.

”But you’re not using your full potential!” Jean argued with Laurie.

”Did you know that just by wearing shoes, we are making our feet weaker?” Laurie said, seemingly not listening. ”All we do is walk with them, but there are people who can actually use chopsticks with their feet.”

”Your point being?”

”Of course I’m not using my full potential. Nobody is. But I’m fine where I am. I have about as much need to develop my telepathy as I have to use chopsticks with my feet. Sure, it would be a cool thing to do, but I have better things to waste my energy on.”

Jean sighed. ”Okay, I can accept that, I guess. I still think it’s a waste, though.”

”Well, then there’s Billy,” Laurie said.

”He wouldn’t like it?” Jean asked, getting defensive. She had thought Billy seemed like a nice person, but maybe it was wrong to expect too much.

”No he wouldn’t. Oh, he would tell me to grasp the opportunity and all that, obviously, but he would feel threatened. I don’t expect you to understand, but Billy isn’t as cocky as he may seem. He is already amazed I even want to be married to him, I don’t want to make him feel even more inferior. If I got involved in something as big as this seems to be, he would be afraid to lose me.”

Jean nodded thoughtfully. ”Okay, I’m not going to try and make you. You’re fine, Jenny’s fine, nobody needs our help.”

Laurie smiled. ”I have a brother that might be interested, if you’re desperate to help someone. And you know this doesn’t mean I don’t want to meet you again. Let’s do lunch or something.”

”That would be lovely,” Jean agreed. ”Do you think that man Xavier is going to talk to will be as troublesome as you are?”

”Weaver? Hardly. He speaks for the entire Center. Jenny and I only speak for ourselves. Lunch is the best offer we can give.”

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Xavier welcomed the middle-aged black man who had just entered his office.

”Henry Dawson,” the man said, reaching out a gloved hand.

Xavier took it, somewhat puzzled.

”Henry?” I’m sure ms Alkowitz said…”

”Weaver,” the man said with a smile and sat down. ”That’s what my friends call me. You may call me that as well, if you like.”

”Thank you. And you may call me Charles.” Xavier entered the topic of conversation. ”At first when I spoke to ms Alkowitz, it was to promote relations between mutants and non-mutans. But it seems that is what you have been doing all along at this City Center.” It was phrased almost like a question, and Weaver shook his head.

”Not exactly. If that was the case, the mutants would have to be considered being in severe minority. The Center as such started 13 years ago, when mutation wasn’t as big an issue as it is today. It was always stated that it would be open for everyone, without restrictions, but I don’t believe mutants were ever mentioned. On the other hand,” he shrugged, ”maybe it was. I was after all not the only mutant involved in the project.”

Xavier raised an eyebrow. ”So you’re a mutant yourself.”

”Yes.” Weaver looked troubled. ”I thought you were informed. Jackie thought it would be better if you talked to someone who was aware of the children’s difficulties.” A slight look of amusement entered his face. ”Not that mutation equals empathy - I understand that your colleagues found the Center people rather indifferent.”

”Not exactly indifferent,” Xavier said. ”It’s just that some of our children can be rather reserved, and for good reasons. Just showing up at someone’s doorstep is not something they would do.”

”No,” Weaver agreed. ”Thing is, your friends talked to the wrong people to understand that. Neither Jenny Taboada nor Laureen Drew have particularly apparent powers, and their families have been most supportive. In fact, Laurie’s family has the highest frequence of mutancy I have ever encountered, and they’re proud of it, too. The oldest mutant I ever met was Laurie’s grandmother. Sarah Jones was her name… she claimed that her father had been one too, but you never knew with Sarah, she liked a good story better than a bad truth.” He gave Xavier a glance of dry humour. ”It may interest you to know that she was also the grandmother of Jackie Alkowitz’s husband.”

This actually astonished Xavier, and Weaver laughed. ”She’s not half as neutral as she lets people think, that girl. But, to get back to subject, obviously it was not that easy for all of us.” He silenced, and Xavier waited for him to tell his story.

Weaver removed his gloves and help up his hands. Small, black prickles covered his palms. While he continued speaking, strings came out of those prickles, and with small hand movements he joined them together. It looked remarkable like an old lady knitting. Or weaving.

”I was considered an embarrassment by my family. You know, stay away from people, voices kept low when they talked about me, the way retards were treated in a less enlightened time. Fortunately, later I met Bella, who thought a piece of lace is an awesome gift even if the material comes straight from your boyfriend’s hands. She’s very headstrong, Bella.” He pulled his work away from his hands and gave it to Xavier. It was a handkerchief, marked with an X. Xavier accepted it with admiration.

”Thank you.”

”You’re welcome. Now, of course, later I’ve realised that I was lucky after all. I can ’pass’ quite easily, my mutation is rather harmless and easy to control, and nobody ever beat or disowned me.” His brow furrowed. ”What some people will do… One of the young ones, a telekinetic called Jonathan Henderson, has more scars than a hockey player. He finally tried to kill his father with a toaster, something you wouldn’t believe if you saw him today. You know the story.”

”I do indeed,” Xavier said with a heavy heart. ”Would he be interested in our assistance?”

Weaver sighed. ”I don’t know. He’s quite alright as it is, and he’s not too fond of authorities. I think maybe later, when the connection is confirmed. No, my mind was set on two other people. Corey Johnson and Lise Haven - there’s almost ten years between them, but they could both need a little help. If we begin the cooperation with the two of them coming over, it might be easier for your kids to stop by the Center.”

Xavier nodded thoughtfully. ”That sounds like a good idea. Now, tell me more about these two.”

When the conversation had ended and Weaver had left, Xavier remained in his office, thinking. None of this had turned out anything like he thought it would when he had first called Jaqueline Alkowitz after her incredible speech.

But it hadn’t turned out half bad either.

 

THE END


End file.
